


Know and Be Known

by ahurston



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anxiety, Apologies to Any Irish Witches Out There, Competence Kink, Completely Fabricated Irish Spellwork, Discussions of Sexual Identities, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic, Minor Angst, Patrick's Honesty Issues, Praise Kink, Reference to Past Experience with Homophobia, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston
Summary: David gives Patrick an engagement ring. Magical consequences ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since Patrick had gotten down on one knee and given him four perfect, gold rings a few weeks ago, David had been noticing Patrick's fingers. More specifically, his ringless fingers, and one finger in particular. Patrick wasn't the four rings type, which was frankly a relief for David’s bank account. 

So that was why David was awake at 1:00 AM on a Tuesday, as Patrick snored softly beside him in the bed they now shared every night. He was scrolling Etsy on his phone, screen dimmed to let Patrick sleep. He'd already visited every brick-and-mortar jewelry shop in Elmdale, Elmwood, or Elm Glen - all the Elms, really - and nothing. Everything he'd seen had been too plain, too ornate, too pedestrian, too shiny, or otherwise decidedly Not Patrick. 

Something handmade by a folksy artisan in coastal Oregon would have to be an improvement over the mass-produced shit he'd been wading through so far, right? But as his eyes glazed over at the 800th incarnation of chunky hammered gold and bands with Bible verses inscribed around them, he started to lose confidence. 

But then, on page 41, he saw it. 'Antique 18k Gold Engraved Band, Circa 1875, Ireland, Size 10.' He clicked, and his breath caught. The ring was fairly narrow, with two twisted strands along the top. It had some faint scuffs and scratches - it wasn't perfect, but it was exactly right. It was even Patrick's size, which David knew for sure from surreptitiously measuring his ring finger while he slept a few nights ago. David clicked through to the next photo, of the inside of the band. There, in twisty script, were the words, '_ fios agus a bheith ar aolas _,' which David immediately searched for in Google Translate. 

It was Irish Gaelic - no surprise - and the translation made his heartbeat pick up. 'Know and Be Known.' If that wasn't the most...David willed his vibrating fingers to cooperate as he added the ring to his cart, chose expedited shipping, and clicked 'order.' 

"David, what are you doing? Everything ok?" Patrick slurred from beside him. 

David quickly put his phone aside, turning into Patrick's sleep-warm arms and kissing the side of his head as he pulled him in close. He tried to let Patrick's steady breathing lull him back to sleep, but his looping thoughts kept him awake. 'Know and be known.'

*

For all his attempts at planning some romantic way to give Patrick the ring, David ended up going with a classic. Backrub, blow job, and then David set the small, velvet box on Patrick’s flushed, bare chest. 

“What this?” Patrick asked, picking up the box. He flipped open the lid, and David got to watch as a soft, delighted smile crept over his face. 

“You don’t have to wear it right this second - if you want to wait until the wedding, that’s fine. I just thought, you gave me those rings, I wanted you to have something now, in case you wanted it - which, if you don’t, that’s fine -"

Patrick, bless him, cut off David's spiral by hauling him in for a deep kiss. "David, of course I want to wear it now."

“So you like it? It’s an antique, from Ireland - I know how much your grandfather meant to you, and he was Irish, and...there’s an inscription.” 

Patrick was still giving him that warm, fond look, even as David babbled. He pulled the ring from its slot in the box and peered at the inside. 

“You know, surprisingly, I don’t read Gaelic all that well.”

David rolled his eyes. “There’s a - there’s a translation, um, on the underside of the lid.” Why David was embarrassed now, with the taste of Patrick’s come still on his tongue, who could say. Except really, was it such a mystery? He’d sucked a lot of dicks, but he’d never sort-of-proposed to any of the people attached to them before. 

Patrick read the translation out loud. “‘To know and be known.’” Patrick cleared his throat. “That’s. That’s really beautiful.” He slipped the ring on his finger. “Perfect fit. How did you -”

David grinned at him. 

“Shouldn’t have asked,” Patrick said.

“Learned it from Alexis. Something about covertly swapping out the ruby signet ring of a Saudi prince with a fake, in order to...something about a consulate and a stolen passport.”

Patrick laughed, and David loved him so, so much.

“I love you too,” Patrick said, kissing him again, politely ignoring what David knew to be the battery acid taste on his tongue.

Patrick pulled back. “Your mouth doesn’t taste like batteries - what are you talking about?”

“Huh?” 

“You said something about battery acid.”

“I said words while I was kissing you?” David asked, confused. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know! My come tastes like battery acid, apparently!”

“But I didn’t say that out loud!” David said. 

“What? Yes, you did. You said, ‘good thing he doesn’t mind the taste of battery acid.’” Patrick said. “Wait a second.”

David thought hard. 

“David. I’m looking at your face, and your lips didn’t move, but I could swear to God you just said something about Beyonce, hairless cats, and Cincinnati.”

“Cleveland. I was thinking about Cleveland.”

“...Thinking? Not, um, somehow speaking without moving your mouth?”

“Nope. Dated a ventriloquist once but didn’t learn the trade,” David quipped, trying to stay calm.

“Ok, what the fuck.” Uh oh. If Patrick was swearing, they were really in trouble. 

“The ring - take the ring off!” David was already pulling at it, trying and failing to slide it over Patrick’s knuckle. “This just started right after you put it on, right?”

“Yeah, ok, good idea.” Patrick knocked David's hand away and tried to work the ring off himself. 

“Um, I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? What does that mean?” 

David thought about Pringles, Victor Garber, and the very cute freckle under Patrick’s right nipple.

“Nipple freckle, chips, and an attractive older gentleman,” Patrick said.

David gasped. “You don’t know who Victor Garber is?!”

“I really don’t think that’s the most pressing issue here, David.”

"Ok, fair point, we'll circle back to Victor Garber when you can't _ read my fucking mind! _"

Patrick scrambled over to the side of the bed, and returned with the slipperiest lube from his nightstand drawer. "If this doesn't take the ring off, I swear to God..."

David sent up a silent prayer to the universe.

"Madonna, really?"

"You can hear the song in my head?! Jesus Christ. Come on, lube up that finger and get that witchy ring off of there!"

"Not exactly the best use of a lubed up finger, but yeah, ok." Patrick retorting, sarcasm failing to paint over the obvious panic coloring his tone. He tried and failed to remove the ring. "David, can you please stop thinking so _ quickly _? I can't even make out the words. It’s just pictures at this point.”

"No, I’m sorry, I can’t _ think slower _! I am thinking at a speed proportionate to the crisis at hand!”

David bolted out of the bed and shut himself in the bathroom. He tried to think of something neutral. So instead, of course, the first thing that came to mind was a vivid dream he'd had last week about a _ very _ acrobatic (i.e. physiologically and logistically impossible) threesome with Patrick and Jake. 

“Please say you can’t still hear me,” David said, forehead leaning against the back of the door. 

“...I can still hear you. Your brain is kind of yelling.”

David cracked open the door. “Suffice to say I don’t think both of us should sleep here tonight, yeah?”

“I’ll go,” Patrick said, gentleman that he was, even though this whole thing was David's fault. 

"This isn't your fault, David."

David sighed. "We don’t know if the ring works on other people. And I don’t particularly want to find out right now. I’ll go.” 

Patrick sighed. “Fair point."

*

"This had better be fucking critical," Stevie said when she opened her door, dressed in an oversized Tegan and Sarah concert tshirt and flannel pants covered in Christmas trees.

"Nice pajamas," David couldn't help but comment.

"Fuck off." Stevie tried to shut the door in his face, but David stuck his foot out to stop it just in time.

"Stevie, I'm sorry. Let me try again. It really is fucking critical."

"Fine, fine." Stevie waved him inside. "Tea or whiskey?"

"Bless you. Whiskey."

"As long as you buy me a replacement bottle tomorrow," Stevie said, heading for the cabinet as David plopped into the sagging cushions of her couch.

"Deal."

Stevie got them both glasses - what appeared to be a repurposed jam jar for David and a novelty mug in the shape of Charlie Brown's head for herself. She poured two fingers for herself and one for David, handing it to him as she settled in beside him on the couch.

"Ok. What's going on? You can have more whiskey when you’ve told me."

David got right to the point. "So I got Patrick an engagement ring, and now he can read my mind."

Stevie looked at him blankly before adding another inch of whiskey to his glass. "Gonna need you to run that one past me again."

"I bought a ring off of an Irish antiques dealer online, and apparently it's a cursed object, because I just involuntarily subjected Patrick to the potent visual of that dream I had last week, you know, the one where -"

"You got Eiffel Towered by Jake and Patrick, yup. Yikes, David."

"I know! Not ideal!" David agreed. "Ok, but wait, you're just accepting this as fact?"

"I don't know. I mean, I believe in some kind of higher power and in ghosts, so why not telepathic jewelry?"

"When you put it that way." David acknowledged. "Wait, you believe in ghosts?"

"If you think the motel has made it this long un-haunted, I don't know what to tell you."

"Fair point.” David shuddered. “So what the fuck do I do?”

“I see three options for you. One: you and Patrick break up immediately and one of you leaves town. Two: I call up Jake and ask to borrow some kind of saw, so that we, and I mean _ you _, can amputate Patrick’s finger. Or three: you or Patrick leave town, and the two of you carry on a passionate but long-distance relationship until the sweet release of death.”

“There’s not a fourth option?” David asked, more than a little frantic. “One where we deal with this together until it either wears off, or...”

“Or?”

“I don’t know! Are my thoughts that bad?”

Stevie raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know, David. Are they?”

“I don’t think so? I mean, Patrick and I are honest with each other - how bad could it be?”

Stevie didn’t reply. 

“So pretty bad, huh? Very bad. Like, he’d know _ all of it _, the judgmental thoughts about strangers, all the weird sex shit, how I feel about his clothes...”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows that last one.”

“You’re probably right. So is there any version of this that works out ok?” David asked despairingly.

“I vote amputation. Let me text Patrick.”

David slapped the phone out of her hand, and it hit the floor. Stevie bent to pick it up, nonplussed.

“Shit, I’m sorry - did I break the screen again?” David asked. 

“Nope, I got an Otterbox. Learned after the last time you pulled that move.”

“Please don’t text Patrick that you recommend asking _ fucking Jake _ to borrow whatever tools necessary to remove a finger. Also, why the hell would Jake have a bone saw?”

“Pretty sure you don’t need a bone saw to remove a finger.”

“This is gross. You’re no help,” David groaned. 

“You know what we do need to figure out - can Patrick read other people’s thoughts, or just yours?”

David sighed. “We’re going to have to test it, aren’t we?"

“Afraid so. What the hell, I’ll do it. I’m an open book.”

“What? You are a decidedly closed book. An enigma. You want to let Patrick in on all that?”

Stevie shrugged. “Why not? Could be fun.”

“No. Nonono. Nope. I do not want to test this on someone who’s seen me naked. No. Hard pass.”

Stevie grinned wolfishly at him.

“I’ll just - I’ll figure it out,” David said, losing steam, and hope. 

“You guys’ll figure it out together,” Stevie said, nudging his shoulder. “You always do.”

“Yeah, ok, sure. Every other time we’ve been beset by supernatural forces, it’s gone great. Thanks.”

Stevie sighed. “Fine, you can sleep on my couch tonight,” Stevie relented. 

“Bed.”

“Couch.”

“Bed, with a pillow wall to prevent unintentional cuddling,” David offered. 

“Deal.”

*

Settled in on his side of the pillow wall, David checked his phone for any texts from Patrick.

**Patrick: **

_ I'll run the store tomorrow. We'll figure this out. _

_ David. I love you. No thought you could ever have would change that. _

David tried to keep the warble out of his voice, he really did. “Stevie?” 

Without speaking, Stevie removed the pillows between them, and wrapped an arm snug around his chest. 

*****

After David had left last night, Patrick had thrown on the first clothes he could find - his baseball shirt and a pair of sweatpants David had bought him as a joke last Christmas, emblazoned with ‘JUICY’ on the ass. 

He bolted down to his car and drove to the only place he could think of that would be open past midnight in a town this small - the gas station just off the highway. He needed to know if this new, super fun skill was limited to just David or applied to all of humankind. Testing it out on a random stranger whose thoughts he didn’t care about seemed pretty safe. 

“Hey man,” a weedy kid behind the counter greeted him, askew name tag reading ‘Jared’. 

“Hey.” Patrick stared at him, trying to gauge if he was hearing any thoughts other than his own as ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ played quietly on the store’s speakers. 

“...Can I help you?” The kid asked, clearly creeped out by Patrick's prolonged eye contact. If Patrick could read his mind, he was pretty confident he’d be hearing about what kind of impression he was making right now.

"Oh, um. Just here for..." Patrick scanned the products on the counter. "A lighter." 

"Oh...ok?"

"And, uh." Patrick looked around again, and pulled a magazine at random off the rack beside him. _ Knitters Monthly. _

"You, uh, into crafts? Alright. Cool. Um, can I ring that up for you?"

Patrick nodded, aggressively trying to look normal before giving up, paying as quickly as possible, and hurrying home.

*

Sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, Patrick traced patterns across the ugly popcorn ceiling above their bed through tired eyes as he tried to avoid texting David. He succeeded in waiting until a relatively respectable 6:09 AM before texting Stevie instead.

**Patrick: **

_ How is David? _

**Stevie: **

_ Fantastic _

_ On his third bowl of Captain Crunch _

_ Been up all night _

_ Can I kick him out now? _

**Patrick: **

_ He wants to come home? _

**Stevie: **

_ Yeah, dumbass _

_ He needs to know you're not gonna hate him for thinking weird shit _

_ And you're not going to, are you, Patrick _

**Patrick: **

_ I think I heard you menacingly cracking your knuckles from here. _

**Stevie: **

_ David says he'll be home soon _

_ At least I think that's what he said _

_ He's on the fourth bowl of cereal _

_ You owe me more cereal _

**Patrick: **

_ Don't really see how this is my fault, but sure. You can take the cereal reimbursement money off of your wine tab at RA. _

**Stevie: **

🖕

Patrick smiled, grasping at the normalcy of Stevie’s reliable, affectionate rudeness. 

Looking for something to do with his hands until David returned home, Patrick brewed tea. And swept the kitchen. And wiped down the appliances. And made their bed, with hospital corners. Just as he was starting to reorganize the spices in the pantry, David walked through the door. His eyes were fixed resolutely on a point to the left of Patrick’s head, and he was picking at a doubtlessly too-expensive-to-be-loose thread on his sweater. 

Waiting for David to either say or think something to start them off, Patrick was surprised when David’s eyes snapped to his, brows raised. 

“You think the bags under my eyes are _ noticeable _?!”

“Oh my God.”

Patrick backed up into the kitchen, his hip clipping the corner of the table in his desire to get his stupid, loud brain as far away from David as this studio apartment would allow.

David rubbed at his temples. “So I’m not really getting words? More like, ‘AHHHHH,’ which, gotta say, not comforting. I think...we changed places.”

“You think?” Patrick yelped, trying to tamp down the bubbling panic he could feel creeping over his brain as his ears filled with static. He tried to remember how to breathe. “I need you to - I need you to -” Patrick gestured uselessly at the space between them. 

David took a step back. “I’m going to go in the hallway. If I can still hear that super pleasant wordless scream you’ve got going on from there, I’ll go sit in the car, ok?”

Patrick nodded, mutely. As the apartment door clicked shut, he let out a gasping breath. _ What the fuck. _

A minute or so later, Patrick’s phone rang. 

“Hey, David.”

“Ok, I can’t hear you.”

Patrick checked that he hadn’t hit the mute button by mistake, before realizing what David meant. “How far did you have to go?”

“Mail room,” David replied. “Let the record show, I’m sitting on a dirty-ass bench in a poorly heated space in order to respect the privacy of your thoughts. And these pants were expensive.”

Patrick laughed. 

“Thank you for taking the condition of my clothes so seriously. Hey.”

“Hey."

“That thing you said, last night. Me too. You can think anything - I’ll be alright.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, Patrick,” David answered, in that gravely whisper he used that always made Patrick weak at the knees. 

Patrick cleared his throat. “So. There’s nothing I could think of that would be a problem for you? Really.”

“Well, I guess that depends.”

“Ah.” Patrick’s stomach tightened again. 

“Are you an escaped felon?” David asked. “Not that that’s necessarily a deal breaker.”

Patrick let out a surprised laugh. “It’s not a deal breaker? In that case, what felonies are acceptable?”

David paused before answering. “If I say violence committed for the good of the oppressed, does that make me a bad person?”

“You mean, like the Punisher?”

“...Yes. If you were an escaped vigilante who only went after, I don’t know, name your evil-doers of choice. Litterers. I could maybe roll with that.”

“I see,” Patrick replied blithely. 

“Punisher though, not Dexter. I don’t want you, like, _ enjoying _ it.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So yeah. Some felonies would be ok.”

“Glad we’ve established that. I’m not a felon, David.”

“Oh. Well, that’s...a relief.”

“You think the Punisher is hot, don’t you?” Patrick couldn’t help but press, smiling into the phone.

“That’s neither here nor there. Irrelevant, really.”

“Right. Ok, what other deal breakers should I be aware of?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are a lot of things I could get past for you.”

“That’s really romantic,” Patrick attempted to joke, but it came out sincere. “So you'll be totally calm when you find out about the surprise anniversary trip I’d planned for us to hike the Appalachian Trail?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Surprise! No, I wouldn’t. Ok, so how do we do this? The store is supposed to open in an hour. I get that you’re theoretically alright with whatever I think about, but I’d rather not test that in front of our customers.”

“Sounds wise. So, you or me?” David asked.

“I’ll go. You want to try to research this? Contact the shop or something?”

“Yeah. Fucking Etsy witch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately for Patrick, and unfortunately for the residents of Schitt’s Creek, cold and flu season had struck, seemingly overnight. From the moment he switched the sign to ‘open,’ there had been a steady stream of bleary and sneezing customers to distract him from the magical crisis he and David had found themselves in. They were already nearly out of organic honey lozenges and Mr. Hockley’s very popular, hopefully-no-longer-weed-based tea. 

After the lunch rush passed and the store was quiet, Patrick finally got a chance to check his phone. Eight texts from David. 

**David: **

_ Surprisingly, the quality of information available online about Irish mind-reading curses is...less than great _

**David:**

_ This website is entirely in rainbow Comic Sans. It suggests to “dip the afflicted appendage into a pool of fresh lamb’s blood under the light of the harvest moon.” Hard YIKES _

**David:**

_ Also, what other “appendages” can be “afflicted?” Are there enchanted bejeweled cock rings out there?! _

**David:**

_ BTW Etsy shop is gone, of fucking course _

**David:**

_ OH FUCK _

**David:**

_ What if there were like, instructions, or warnings, or notes or SOMETHING in the envelope this fucking thing came in?????? BRB _

**David:**

_ I had to dig through the dumpster to find our trash bag from last week. It was as terrible as you imagine. _

**David:**

_ There was a note. All it says is “Do what the ring says, and the spell breaks.” WTF _

The timestamp on the last message was only four minutes ago. Figuring now was as worthwhile a time as any to break David’s rule about no phone calls during open hours, Patrick pressed “call.” David picked up on the first ring. 

“Ok, so first, real quick,” David rushed out. “I may have borrowed your clothes for my horrible dumpster diving adventure.”

Patrick barked out a laugh. 

“Just an old Target sweatshirt and your laundry day sweatpants!” David added.

“David, it’s fine. Balenciaga doesn’t belong in a dumpster.”

“I mean, arguably, their 2009 fall line maybe does, but that’s not the point.”

“So. Do what the ring says? That’s all we’ve got?” Patrick confirmed, getting them back to the matter at hand.

“Yeah. Think that means what I think it means?”

“We’re going to have to let this happen. We can’t just avoid each other. Or I can call Jake and borrow a saw,” Patrick couldn’t help but add. 

After a pause, David replied, “I’m going to kill Stevie. When did she -”

“She popped in this morning for just a minute to offer her suggestions for our little problem.”

At David’s indignant huff, Patrick added, “Hey, at least she’s trying to help.” 

In truth, it hadn’t helped much at all. He’d really rather keep all his fingers intact. But, if it came down to it...”You know you’re more important to me than a stupid finger, right?”

“Alright, that’s sweet, I think? And freaky. I don’t want any part of that. So before we resort to a backwoods amputation, let’s try to actually break the fucking spell, ok?”

“Sounds good. So. After I close up the store, I’ll just -” Patrick took a deep breath. “I’ll just come home, then. And we’ll go from there.”

“But you were really freaked this morning,” David added, in a small voice. “I heard you. Um. Should I be worried?”

“No, no - not like that. I’m sorry. The freakout was just a reflex. There’s nothing I’m hiding from you. I’ve just, proportionally, spent a lot of my life hiding. So the idea of having everything just _ out there _ is kind of innately terrifying.”

“I get that. If you can’t do this -” David let out a shallow breath, “- or if you can’t do this _ with me _, I could go somewhere else for a while, or, just whatever you need -”

Patrick cut in. “David, no. You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t offer whatever else you were about to offer. Please. I’m not breaking up with you, Jesus.”

The line was quiet for a moment. “I know privacy is important to you, and I’m just being realistic, I think? What if we can’t break the curse, spell, whatever this is?”

At that moment, the bell above the door rang as Alexis stepped inside. She smiled at Patrick, and before Patrick could politely end the call and greet her, David launched in. 

“And what if you’re just stuck with knowing every thought in mind, every other day? Just ambient, shitty me. All of it. The image of an Empire State Building-sized ball sac drifting across my brain as I fall asleep. Noticing Jocelyn’s...noticing Jocelyn. Thinking a random baby is ugly. My interior opinions on your transitional fall wardrobe.”

“Pretty sure those opinions aren’t interior. I’m deeply familiar with your views on fleece,” Patrick replied blandly, saving the horrifying idea of grotesquely huge genitalia for later, to spare Alexis. 

“And Jesus, what about sex? That’s - well. It could be hot, actually. Like I’d know what you’re feeling, or vice versa. Or, on the other hand, it could be definitely not hot. Like you’ll know when I’m holding in a fart, or you’ll maybe see your own face in your mind when you come.”

“Is there something wrong with my face?” Patrick asked, holding back a laugh.

Alexis jumped in. “Oh, no you look fine. Maybe just a little blotchy?” 

“Thank you, Alexis. That’s helpful,” Patrick replied.

“Alexis is there? I’m talking about your O face when _ my sister _is there?” David whisper-shrieked, which was probably for the best, as Alexis was now right in front of the counter, watching him with concerningly sharp eyes.

“Mm. Yes. Ok, well, we better pick this up later, right?” Patrick suggested. 

“Ugh, yes. Ok. I’m going to...I don’t know what I’m going to do. Pace and fret, probably.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Yeah. Ok. I’ll...see you later.”

“See you later, David.” Patrick returned his phone to the shelf below the counter, and looked up to find Alexis eyeing him from across the cash. 

She tipped her head to the side, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “So...what happened? Did David tell you that you need to start using a night cream? Because personally, I think your laugh lines are cute, but maybe -”

“Thanks, no - nothing about my face. I’m fine. Can I help you find anything?”

“Mm, no. Ted had a cold, and I told him I’d bring him some of those little honey things you have. One of my goals for the year is becoming more _ nurturing _.”

Choosing to simply gloss past that landmine, Patrick peered over her shoulder to see that the spot on the table where the lozenges were displayed was indeed empty. “Let me see if we have any more in the back. One second.” 

Alexis ducked behind the counter and followed him into the supply room. When Patrick spotted the box in question on an upper shelf, he moved to grab the step stool. Before he could, Alexis reached past him and plucked the box off the shelf herself, smiling brightly as she handed it to him.

“Ah, ok. You got it. That’s the one.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad, button.” She popped her heel up behind her so Patrick could admire the three inch ankle boots she was sporting, and then booped him on the nose. “You carry yourself like someone much taller, don’t worry.”

“I...wasn’t. Can I ring some of those up for you?”

“Sure sure. But first. Is everything alright?” she asked, brows creased overdramatically. When Patrick didn’t reply right away, she added, “I’m trying to be more nurturing, remember?”

“...Right.” Patrick made a quick calculation. “Actually, maybe there is something I’d like your help with. Do you happen to know anything about curses?”

“You mean, like how to swear in other languages? I can help you with Cantonese and Polish, but if you’re looking for Arabic, that’s tough.”

“No, I mean, like magic, curses, spells, enchantments - that sort of thing.”

“Ohhhh. I see. Not really my area. Twyla’s sort of lightly witchy though - you could ask her. Why do you ask?”

Patrick tried to give a reassuring smile. “No reason - it’s fine. I’ll ask Twyla.”

“Well, now you’ve got me curious. Come on, Patrick - tell me.” She clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes. 

Patrick decided to go with the truth, minus David’s thoughts about ball sacs and ugly babies. “Well, this is going to sound crazy, but David bought me an engagement ring.” He held up his hand briefly to show it to her. “And there’s no way to say this that sounds normal, but now we can read each other’s minds. Or rather, he can read my mind one day, and I can read his the next, etc.”

“Oh my fucking God, Patrick. If it makes you feel any better, I once got dosed with spy-grade truth serum by mistake at a diplomatic summit in Taipei, and let me tell you, the guy I was with at the time? Let’s just say that that relationship didn’t last an hour.”

“Thanks, Alexis. Again, super helpful.”

“No no no! I mean, that’s not like you and David! I don’t even remember that guy’s name! Chad something, maybe? Anyway, you two are going to be fine. You’re like, _ super _ in love. It’s embarrassing, actually. It’ll probably be really awkward and whatever, but as long as it’s temporary - it is temporary, right? Because I don’t know how healthy it would be for you to hear all of David’s thoughts on like, _ everything _, for the next fifty years or whatever.”

“We’re hoping it’s temporary, yeah. Something about once we ‘know and are known’ by each other, it’ll stop.”

“Um, so in the spirit of being _ nurturing _, I’m going to do you a huge favor. You and David need to like, get out of town or something. Go to the Holiday Inn in Elmdale, a cabin in the woods - somewhere. I’ll run the store tomorrow.”

Patrick’s first impulse was to turn her down. A couple months back, David had put a strict moratorium on Alexis watching the store, when $80 in stock had mysteriously vanished after she had covered an afternoon while David and Patrick went to try on tuxes for the wedding. But this was different. Trying times. 

“Actually, that’d be great. You’d really do that? The store opens at 10:00 on Sundays, and the afternoons can be a little busy.”

“I _ know _, button.” She booped him again. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get my mom to help me.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary.” The last time Mrs. Rose had assisted in the store, an entire line of skincare products had gone missing. “It’s totally doable for one person.”

She winked at him, and sauntered out the door. The door clicked shut before Patrick realized she hadn’t paid for the lozenges. 

*

Patrick had to admit to himself that Alexis had a point about getting away somewhere private to at least attempt to deal with this situation. He texted David his plan as he started closing up the store, and got a thumbs up emoji in reply. 

He booked an affordable AirBnB an hour outside of town, scoring a prettily decorated cabin situated by a small pond. The reviews emphasized the comfortable bed and overall cleanliness, obviously of peak importance to David. Feeling that reassuring burst of dopamine that he’d taken some kind of control back from the universe in this uncontrollable situation, he locked up the store and walked home, quietly humming a Beatles song to himself. 

“I love that song.” David rounded the corner of the living room, kissing him softly on the mouth. “I could hear you from downstairs.”

“Ok, that means it’s still your turn, then?” Patrick asked, taking a breath and trying to fight the knee-jerk urge to shield himself, shield David, from anything he might think that was a little more vulnerable or revealing than the lyrics of ‘In My Life.’

“Guess so.”

“When do you think it’ll switch again?” Patrick asked.

“Fuck if I know. I packed for us both. You ready to go?”

Patrick nodded, smiling softly at the casual intimacy of that - the image of David gently folding up his clothes and tucking them into a shared suitcase with more care and respect than they’d ever received from his own hands.

David smiled warmly back at him. 

“You heard that, didn’t you,” Patrick observed. 

“Yeah, I did. You like it when I take care of your things.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Well, you take good care of me, so,” David deflected, waving the praise away. 

“I try to.”

David cleared his throat. “Should we go, then?”

“Let’s. I should probably drive tonight though, yeah? I’ve only got one set of thoughts running through my head.” An image from last night, of David’s dream about a threesome with he and Jake, flickered across his mind before he could suppress it. Objectively hot, but no. No, no, no. 

David grimaced, and nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

*

“Your thoughts are different than mine,” David observed, ten minutes into the drive.

Patrick glanced at him, eyebrow quirked. 

“I mean, obviously they’re different. What I mean is the flavor of them, the cadence or whatever. They’re so _ orderly _. Kind of like thinking in spreadsheets. Columns and rows.”

Patrick smiled at that. “Is that a compliment, or an insult?”

“Compliment! It’s relaxing, listening to them. Like a few minutes ago. You were going through a checklist of how you closed up the store tonight, and I could see you remembering doing each part of it. Locking the door, balancing the register and emptying it out, sweeping the floors. 

“I do that every time I close, think through all the steps like that afterward, to be sure I’ve done them. Did I ever tell you that the first few weeks we were open, I went back every night after close to check that I’d locked the door?”

David glanced at him, considering. “Even on nights you’d been off, when I’d closed by myself?”

“...No?”

“Hon. Remember, I can hear you.”

“I’m sorry, David. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you or something. It’s just an anxiety thing, I think. I calmed down, eventually. Especially when I found out I’m not the only one who keeps lists. Mine are just mostly in my head and in Excel rather than in beautifully bound leather notebooks.”

“So evidence of my anxiety calmed your anxiety?” David asked, curious. 

“Huh. I never thought of it like that, but yeah. I think so. Is that weird?”

David reached across the seat to clasp his hand where it rested on his thigh. He brought Patrick’s hand to his mouth, and instead of kissing his knuckles as Patrick expected, turned his palm over and kissed the center of it. “Maybe our brains aren’t that different after all, then,” he said against his skin. 

Patrick shifted in his seat, and David grinned at him. 

“Not different at all, seems like. Hey, can I try something?” David asked, still playing with his fingers in a way he knew drove Patrick absolutely insane. 

“Um, while truly any other time, I’d say yes, we’re kind of in uncharted territory right now, and I’d rather be indoors and not behind the wheel of a car before you try...whatever you want to try.”

“Sorry,” David said through a smirk, though he didn’t really sound sorry at all.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re just - it’s a lot. Knowing you can hear me. Hear how I -” Patrick broke off, as David dragged the nail of his index finger across his open palm. “Jesus, David. What it feels like for me when you do _ that _.”

“Mmhmm. You know, I don’t hate this? Not at all?”

“Glad I’m feeding your ego.”

“Ok, let’s get you thinking about something else, because if you keep on imagining me sucking on each of your fingers in succession, we’re going to have to pull the car over.”

Patrick laughed, breaking the ratcheting tension a little. 

“Oh! I know! Is it allowed to ask you to remember something, so I can see it from your perspective?”

“Uh, yes? I guess?” 

“The day we met, please.”

That was an easy one, at least. Patrick let the memory play out in his mind. How gorgeous he’d thought David was, how much he’d hoped that David would use his business card and call him, preferably immediately. How later, he had worried he’d teased him too much - that David wouldn’t come back. How when he’d jerked off that night, he’d thought about David’s hands and the way his rings fit his fingers. 

“Thank you,” David said, low and pleased. 

“For what?” Patrick asked, pretty sure he understood, but wanting to hear it directly from David.

“It’s nice. To see it. I wanted you too, back then. Granted, that first time, I was a little preoccupied. I was so sure you thought I was an idiot.”

“But the second time?”

“The second time, you were leaning over a table, and I thought you had a really nice ass,” David answered glibly. 

Patrick laughed. “So it wasn’t my charm, intelligence, or general helpfulness that did it?”

“Oh no, it was those things too, for sure. But your ass sealed the deal.”

“Glad to hear it.” 

The navigation on his phone told him to take a right turn onto a wooded, gravel drive. “Looks like we’re here,” Patrick said.

“How long did you book this place for? Just tonight?”

“I reserved tomorrow night too. It’s close enough that we can drive back Monday morning before the store opens.”

“Smart,” David replied, as Patrick parked the car beneath a maple tree lit up in autumn red.

Patrick slung their shared duffel over his shoulder, wincing at the weight of the overstuffed bag.

“I heard that, and no,” David said, haughtily. “I did not pack unreasonably. This is a standard weekender bag.”

“Mmhmm. Yup. Totally standard,” Patrick grunted. He handed his phone off to David, open to the instructions for the rental’s lockbox. David punched in the code, and they stepped inside. The cabin was warm and cozy and reminded Patrick of weekends at his grandparents’ cabin when he was young. 

“Sometimes, your childhood is so idyllic that it doesn’t seem real,” David observed, a wistful expression on his face. 

“Well, to be fair. My grandmother was a vehement racist, my uncle Henry was always drunk, and because I was the only kid there, I was always really lonely.”

“...Oh. Oh no. Please don’t think about sad baby Patrick. My heart can’t take it.” David put his hands over his eyes, as if he could block out the image from outside. “Let’s get some food, and - shit.”

“What?” Patrick asked, concerned. 

“Pizza probably doesn’t get delivered all the way out here, right?”

“Nope, but I thought ahead.” Patrick turned on his heel, back out the door to the car, where he retrieved the bag he’d packed before he’d left the store earlier. Cheese, those fancy crackers David loved, a few of Farmer Milligan’s apples, and a bottle of local red. 

“Goddamn, I love you so fucking much,” David said in awe, as Patrick laid his spoils out on the kitchen counter. 

Patrick beamed.

“You like that, don’t you. You really like that - when you give me something, and I appreciate it.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, smiling. “Yes. I think we’ve established that I love giving you things.”

“But I didn’t know _ how much _, until right now,” David added. 

“Is this your way of asking me to give you more things?” Patrick teased. 

David’s grin slipped. “Um, no? That’s not what I meant. I don’t need you to give me stuff. And I’m not angling for anything, I just meant - it’s nice. To feel something in your mind that makes you happy and proud and satisfied. And to know that I kind of caused that feeling, at least a little.”

Patrick’s tone softened, as he realized what event from their past he’d unintentionally called back to. “More than a little. I’m sorry.”

David shrugged, and started rooting in the cupboards. “Gotta be a fucking bottle opener around here somewhere.”

Patrick approached him from behind, tipping his head forward, against the space between David’s shoulder blades. He gently wrapped his arms around David’s waist. “I'm sorry, really. Gifts make you feel valued. I know that. I’m sorry for snipping. It wasn’t fair.”

“Did someone get greedy with you before, or something?” David asked, tightly.

Patrick started to say no, but then remembered. How even though Rachel never meant it this way, every year with her felt like something was being extracted from him. Depleted. She wasn’t greedy - she asked for normal things. For him to want her, for him to want to marry her when he told her he did.

“...Oh.” David’s head bowed, hands braced in front of him on the counter. “Ok, yeah.”

Patrick gently nudged David to turn around, looping his arms around David's neck. “David. You’ve given me so much. _ I’m _ the greedy one.”

David stared at him, clearly listening to the swirl in his mind. Patrick knew there was nothing orderly about his thoughts now. Just snippets of memories, old and new, before and since meeting David. Black and white to vibrant technicolor. David’s smile returned, small and so, so fond. 

“Ok. Ok.” David reached behind him to set the bottle opener on the counter, and then took Patrick’s face in his hands to kiss him. 

The moment their lips met, David pulled back, a shocked look on his face. “Alright, so that’s _ something _.”

“The bad sort of something?”

David tugged him in again, whispering against his mouth, “The very, very good sort.” 

From there, David was everywhere. Hands stroking over his back, light and then firm, testing. Patrick shivered and groaned in turn. David’s tongue stroked into his mouth, running over his teeth, along the insides of his cheeks. He sucked on his tongue, nipped at his lower lip, then moved his hands into Patrick’s hair to tug at the short strands. It was completely overwhelming, and that was with Patrick only getting his own side of the story. David on the other hand - David was coming unglued. 

David detached himself just an inch, just enough to gasp with no small amount of obvious desperation, “I can’t - I can’t feel you, and _ feel you _ , you know? Jesus Christ, shit - I’ve got to get you on your back, so I can fucking _ focus _.”

Patrick had no objections to that plan, letting himself be led into the cabin’s small bedroom. David’s hands were shaking when he peeled Patrick out of his clothes, head resting for a moment against the inside of Patrick’s bare knee once he’d gotten him out of his pants and underwear. Patrick stared down at him, noting the quick rise and fall of his chest. 

“David, David - can you look at me?”

“Mm? What?” David murmured, looking dazed. 

“Are you ok?” Patrick asked, fingers tracing lightly over the flushed skin of his cheeks. 

“Oh. Yeah. I think so?” David shook himself out of his stupor, just a little. “I mean, kind of feel like I’m going to have an orgasm and a heart attack at the same time, but other than that?”

“What would make it better?” 

“Lie down, please. I’ve got to touch you, but I don’t think I can cope with you touching me at the same time.”

Patrick nodded, understanding. He turned down the heavy quilt on the bed, and laid himself out on his back for David to do as he wished. Whatever he wished.

“Jesus Christ, did you just seriously think that? You’re so fucking goddamn hot, I can’t take it, _ shit. _” David was quickly stripping off his own clothes, not evening bothering with his usual routine of neatly folding his couture sweater with the respect Patrick was fully aware it deserved. Instead, his entire ensemble ended up on a disgruntled heap on the bedroom’s wood plank floor. 

“I don’t care about my sweater right now, Patrick, _ God _. I’ve just got to get my hands on you. If I pass out, wake me up.”

This was alarming. “Um, why would you be passing out, mid-sex with me?”

“Pretty sure you’ll understand if this thing lasts until tomorrow, and it’s your turn again.”

Patrick nodded. “Got it. Go for it, David.” Then, because he’d thought it but not said it aloud, “Do whatever you want.”

David shuddered, kneeling on the bed between Patrick’s spread legs. With no warning or preamble, he wedged his hands under Patrick’s hips to pull his cock into the wet heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, David!” Patrick shouted, hands clenching mindlessly in David’s hair, making him groan around Patrick’s cock. “Slow down, slow down, or I’m gonna -”

David hummed, sinking down until the head of Patrick’s cock was slipping into his throat. Patrick was hanging on by a goddamn thread, wanting so badly to make this last just a little bit longer. But it appeared David had other plans. He brought a hand up to Patrick’s dick, following the wet slide of his mouth, and then trailed that now-slick hand down and down until he was circling Patrick’s hole. 

Patrick’s mind was lost, flayed open, completely overtaken by David’s hands, David’s mouth. He was so far gone that he barely registered the wet sound of David’s other hand on his own cock until David was moaning around his dick and coming all over his hand and the bed. As soon as he’d stopped shuddering and moaning, David quickly brought his now-gorgeously messy hand to Patrick’s cock, and that did the trick. 

Back arching off the bed, Patrick shouted into the quiet air of the cabin, David's own groans a mirror image of his. He could feel the hot ribbons of come land on his chest and one bit even on his chin. David always did like to see him all filthy.

“You bet your ass I do. You look amazing,” David crooned breathlessly, tracing swirls and lines in their combined come until Patrick’s torso was thoroughly and evenly coated. “Mm. Your head sounds just like mine right now. Glorious static fuzz.”

“Sounds about right,” Patrick groaned. “Shower?” Jesus, a shower sounded hard. 

“I’ll take care of it, hon. You just stay there.”

Patrick’s gaze was fixed to David’s ass as he made his way to the shower. And God, what an ass it was. 

“I heard that,” David called from the bathroom in a sing-song voice, before returning with a couple of dampened wash cloths. 

Clean and shivering in the slight chill of the room, Patrick waited as David ducked into the living room to grab the duffel. Then, he dug fresh underwear and pajamas out and dressed Patrick with that David-patented level of gentleness that brought Patrick to his knees. Before David, he hadn’t ever felt this kind of safety.

“Me neither, for the record. I never did this type of thing for anyone,” David added, slipping Patrick’s clean shirt over his head. Patrick hummed sleepily in response. 

“I’m gonna -” Patrick interrupted himself with a yawn, “Sleep now. Yeah. See you, and hear you, in the morning?”

“I’ll join you in a moment. There’s just some very important cheese waiting for me in the kitchen, and I’ve definitely gotta go deal with that.”

“Mmhmm,” Patrick murmured sleepily, the world fading out around him in a blissed-out haze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Rosebuddies. Love y'all.

Patrick lay beside a sleeping David, eyes glued to the nightstand clock as it ticked over to midnight. He wanted to be awake when the switch happened. Then, in the span of a breath, he could hear it - David’s dream. It moved quickly, much like David’s waking thoughts, but with the added haze of sleep. A door slamming, raised voices, a baby crying. David’s young voice, murmuring quietly, shushing. A small voice, cooing back at him, “Davey, Davey, Davey.”

Patrick realized he knew this one, from a story David had told him during Alexis’ 31st birthday party. Drunk and swaying together on what passed for a dance floor at the Wobbly Elm, David recounted how he used to comfort his baby sister through the bars of her crib when she cried in the middle of the night. He knew how tired Adelina got sometimes, and he just wanted to help. The feelings swirling through David’s mind were multifaceted - pride, sadness, and so much love. Patrick turned into David’s sleep-warm body, kissed his shoulder, and fell asleep to David’s soft breathing.

*

David awoke to an empty bed and the motivating smell of bacon.

"Patrick?" David called.

Patrick ducked his head into the room, an entirely too cute plaid apron around his waist, spatula in hand, hair still damp from the shower. How the hell -

“Woke up before you, drove to the nearest gas station. Breakfast time,” Patrick answered before he could ask outloud.

“Ah. So we’ve switched. Didn’t achieve a state of perfect knowledge of each other last night?” David shot him a wry grin.

Patrick rolled his eyes, but he still gave David's bare chest a slow once-over before turning around and heading back to the kitchen. When David’s feet hit the floor, he winced at the chill of the floorboards.

“Your Uggs are in my backpack," Patrick called from the kitchen. "Grabbed them on the way out the door last night."

“Thanks,” David called back. He glanced around the room, clocking Patrick’s well-worn backpack hanging off the bedroom door knob, across what might as well have been a frozen tundra of exposed wood plank floors.

Patrick popped back into the room, unzipping his bag and tossing David the slippers with an affectionate eye roll. “Didn't you live in New York? How did you ever survive?”

“Um, heated floors? Private drivers? Long vacations to Dubai in January?”

“Ah, right. Well, at least now you’ve got me.” Patrick smirked, returning to the kitchen again.

David smiled at that as he pulled on his boots.

“Alright, there’s coffee, pancakes, eggs, and bacon,” Patrick announced when David had gotten himself situated at the little kitchenette table.

“You’re amazing,” David said, warmth slipping a bit as he tried to suppress the whiplash guilt that sprung up whenever Patrick pulled a Patrick™. All the love and affection David had in his heart for Patrick would never be enough to get him into a kitchen in the pre-8:00 AM hours.

“We don’t have to do the same things for each other though, right?” Patrick said.

“Sure. But don’t you ever wish I was, I don’t know, just nicer?”

“David, for the last year and a half, you’ve been covertly replacing all of my crappy drugstore socks and underwear with ones I assume are the same brand as whatever Jesus wears in Heaven. You’re nice too.”

“Not pre-dawn bacon-and-eggs-nice though,” David countered. “And the underwear thing - it wasn’t entirely selfless. I certainly benefited too, from having your assets set off a little.”

“Mmhmm. I have gorgeous heels.”

“I meant your - smartass.”

Patrick grinned around a forkful of pancakes. David tried to focus on his food, and to not let his thoughts coalesce into decipherable words. Better safe than sorry. The ass crack of 7:45 AM was too early for whatever was going on in there.

A couple of quiet minutes later, Patrick asked, “Can you just let your mind wander, relax a little? You’ve had snippets of at least eleven Mariah Carey songs fly through your head in the last fifteen minutes.”

David grimaced. “I don’t know. I don’t think you really want that.”

“It’s what we’re here for, right?” Patrick prompted.

David huffed. He tried to focus on benign things, like the taste of the bacon, the pleasing blue of Patrick’s sweater. The yolks could’ve been a little runnier, but the crispy edges were nice. Adelina always made perfect eggs. She’d call him her ‘pequeno corvo,’ her little raven, and cut the crusts off his toast. God, he’d loved her.

“She really loved you too.”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. It was her job. She was paid to be nice to me. Not enough, obviously, but still.”

“Not that nice, I don’t think,” Patrick said, sipping his tea with a considering expression on his face. “Did she cut the crust off Alexis’ toast?”

“Well, no, but -”

“I saw the way she looked at you, in your memory.”

David’s shoulders drooped. “Maybe she did. Maybe.”

Searching for a change in topic, David asked, “So. What do you want to do today?”

“Shop,” Patrick replied immediately, with a decisive nod. David blanched.

Patrick bit back a grin. _Little fucker_. Patrick’s grin widened. “Ok, ok. How about something a little lower stakes? A movie, maybe?”

“As long as -”

“I know," Patrick cut in. "As long as it doesn’t require advanced knowledge of sports, and the dog doesn’t die.”

“Correct.”

“Remind me the origin of the dog thing?" Patrick asked, resting his face on one hand. "I didn't think you particularly liked dogs.”

"Oh, um. No reason," David hedged. But if as pulled by an invisible tether, the memory surfaced.

1993 was a boom year for Rose Video Incorporated. His father had proudly dragged David and Alexis along to every new store's grand opening in the greater Toronto area that summer. Somehow, Homeward Bound was always, always playing on the in-store TV above the register.

Patrick reached across the table and took David's hands in his. "David. I have something very important to tell you. No dogs die in that movie."

David pulled his hands out of Patrick's, the better to emphatically gesture with. "But the old Golden Retriever falls into that muddy pit! He tells his animal friends to go on without him!"

Patrick was laughing into his hand now. "Uh, did you ever watch what happens after that part?"

"No! No, I didn't. We'd always leave the store before the end of the movie. Or I'd hide in the bathroom. One or the other."

"Weren't you, like, fifteen?"

"How old do you think I am?" David yelped. "I'll have you know I was an extremely fresh-faced ten at the time. My pores were _invisible_."

"Ok. So," Patrick wheezed. "No movies where the dog..."

"Dies! Appears to die! Whatever! Jesus Christ. Also, I'd like to point out that when I could read your mind, I gave you a rather competent blow job," David said with a huff.

Patrick's smiling eyes turned heated at that. "A little better than competent, maybe. I'd give you a solid 'Exceeds Expectations' on your next performance review."

David shuddered involuntarily. "Um. Are we doing some kind of boss-and-secretary scene now?"

"I don't know - would you be into that?" Patrick asked, head tilted appraisingly.

The image of Maggie Gyllenhaal in fishnets flashed before David's eyes. He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't _not_ be into that. Yes."

"Think we better wait on the roleplay until the telepathy has passed though, yeah?" Patrick pointed out logically. "Could get confusing."

David nodded, stuck on the image of fishnets, and trying to remember if he still had any...

"And yeah. I want to see that," Patrick added.

"On me or you?" David asked, curious.

Patrick's cheeks were tinged pink now, even though his thoughts weren't the ones on display. Except maybe they were, a bit.

"Um, both?" Patrick managed to say, teasing bravado gone.

David's mouth twisted into a one-sided smile. "We can do that. Anytime you want."

Patrick's mouth dropped open, just a little.

"Well, maybe not anytime you want," David amended. "I don't have any with me, and I really doubt that convenience store up the road is satisfactorily equipped."

Patrick laughed, standing up from the table to clear their plates. "Even if Rick's Gas and Grub did carry a variety of stockings and other accoutrements, something tells me they might not be your style."

"You know me so well," David replied. "So, we never did land on a movie."

"Yeah. Well, our options are limited. No internet here - so we're stuck with whatever is in that cabinet next to the TV."

"So you're saying we won't have to subject each other to our mutually aspirational but unrealistic Netflix queues?"

"Correct. No searching through arthouse dramas for you and epic wartime documentaries for me," Patrick said. "Instead, it looks like our options are..."

Patrick sorted through the shelf of assorted DVDs, and named their choices. "Various 1990’s Dennis Quaid vehicles, seasons 4 and 5 of Friends, a rich selection of what appear to be bootlegged Bob Dylan concert recordings..."

"Wow. Alright, so I vote for an alternate activity."

"We could...take a walk?"

David pulled a face. "You really want to hear my scintillating thoughts on flora and fauna?"

"I mean, now that you've said that, I _definitely_ want to hear your opinions on which trees are incorrect."

"It's not that they're incorrect, exactly. It's more that the aesthetic of some trees is -" David cut himself off, at the bit-back smile on Patrick's face. "You know what, no. Just no. Veto on a walk. I don't want you to hear me internally bitch about the difficulty level of an 8% incline."

Patrick laughed. "Alright, alright. Wait, I think I've got it. Didn't you say that your biggest anxiety with this whole thing is that I'd hear all your thoughts about other people? Something about Jocelyn and ugly babies?"

"...Yes. I did say that. Why? What did you have in mind?" David asked.

"Let's go somewhere. Nothing crazy. Like, a dive bar."

"It's 8:30 AM."

"A mall. I'd get to hear what you think of both people and bad fashion. Two birds, one stone."

"Ugh. Alright, I would, because all my opinions on fashion aren't really opinions. They're facts. But there can't possibly be a mall anywhere near here."

Patrick sighed. "You're probably right. I don't know."

"On second thought, let's give Friends a shot. What could go wrong?"

*

Midway through episode five of their totally normal, early morning, telepathic Friends binge, Patrick paused the show and turned to David.

"So, mainly what I'm getting from you is a yes to Rachel, Phoebe, and Chandler, and a no to Ross, Monica, and Joey."

"Correct."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, Rachel, that's obvious. Phoebe, also obvious. Chandler, he's funny, and good with numbers. He's sort of you."

Patrick smiled. "So I'm Chandler. And that makes you..."

"Don't."

"I'm just saying!" Patrick held up his hands.

"Fine! I'm Monica! I know, alright? She's uptight and a perfectionist, and that episode where all she wants to do is set up that dollhouse she inherited, and no one understands, and then the one with the Thanksgiving dinner -"

"I know, David. Monica's great. You're great. I love Monica. Or, you know, you-as-Monica. Decidedly not into women."

David hummed in non-committal reply.

"Ok, I could've sworn I just heard you think 'Are you, though?' at me."

"Um, forget I thought that? We can watch the next episode." David scrambled across Patrick for the remote. Patrick held it out of his reach.

"No, pretty sure I'm going to need clarification on that one," Patrick said, voice tight.

David quickly weighed his options.

"And please don't filter," Patrick said. "Whatever you meant, just tell me."

“I guess I just, I don’t know, still don’t entirely understand it? Your sexual identity journey?” David cringed internally - this was awful already. “But I don’t have to understand it to respect it! You don’t owe me any answers. That’s why I’ve never asked.”

At Patrick’s raised eyebrows, David amended, “Or, you know, never asked _out loud_.”

“You can, though. Ask out loud,” Patrick said.

“I don’t even have a specific question. That’s the thing. I know you’re into me, and that’s all I need to know.”

And David meant that, he really did. He tried to project that surety as clearly as he could.

Patrick tipped his head onto David’s shoulder, and started distractedly playing with the rings on David’s left hand. Rings he’d put there.

“I think I probably know what you’re wondering, but maybe you better just tell me,” Patrick said softly.

After a pause, David replied, “Ok. But if you change your mind, and you don’t want to talk about it -”

“Go ahead.”

David took a deep, reinforcing breath. “How did you not know that you weren’t, _aren’t_, into women? Was being with Rachel and whichever assorted other girls, like, universally terrible? Were you not into it at all? Ever?”

Patrick was quiet for a moment.

“It’s really easy, at least for me, to conflate being good at something with enjoying it.”

David waited for him to continue and tried to keep his brain quiet, if that was even possible.

“So no, it wasn’t terrible. There were moments I...I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Just a shot in the dark here, but are you maybe talking about altruistic desire?”

“What’s that?”

“Getting pleasure out of giving someone else pleasure, essentially. Or wanting someone because they want you.”

Patrick swallowed audibly. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Before David could check himself, the next thought in his head was already formed and making itself known.

“Yeah,” Patrick chuckled dryly. “Asking you out to dinner on your birthday was the first time I’d ever pursued someone.”

“So the girls normally did the pursuing, before?” David asked, trying to contain his ego at the idea that he, David Rose, was the first person Patrick had ever proactively tried to date.

Patrick nodded. “And that felt good, you know? It was easy to just go along with it. And they liked me. I was nice to them, and obviously I was fine with going slow. And then when we’d eventually have sex, I always spent a long time...um. Well. I made sure they enjoyed themselves.”

David smiled, bringing a hand up to thumb at Patrick’s lower lip. “Based on your formidable skills with that mouth, I can hazard a guess why.”

Patrick blushed, to the tips of his ears. “I really like being good at things.”

“Mmhmm. Yeah. And you’re very good. At a lot of things,” David breathed, bringing his hand around to the back of Patrick’s neck to close the already-scant distance between them. He needed that tongue in his mouth, immediately. All this euphemistic talk about Patrick’s oral skills had gotten David a bit more than riled up.

After a moment, Patrick pulled back an inch, and David let him go.

“So it doesn’t bother you?” Patrick asked. David must’ve not kissed him well enough, if he was still thinking thoughts like that.

David shook himself a little, trying to focus on Patrick’s words, rather than on his thoroughly distracting fingers, currently tracing patterns on the inside of his knee.

“Does what bother me?” David managed to ask.

“I don’t know, any of it? That I didn’t figure myself out until I hit 30, or that I have more fun having sex with you than I thought was even possible?”

David preened. “Why on earth would I mind that?”

“Ok, judging by the supernova of pride I’m basking in right now, I believe you.”

“Good. You should believe me. And for the record, _of course_ I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, before. Even if it was only sometimes, or even if you were really mirroring their pleasure back at them rather than experiencing it for yourself.”

“Ok, how did it only take you ten minutes to clarify my, what did you call it? Sexual identity journey? And it took me ten years?”

David brought both hands up to Patrick’s shoulders, rubbing at the tension there as he answered. “I didn’t, hon. You did. I just gave you some words for what you already knew.”

Patrick’s honey-brown eyes were warm on his. “God, I love you.”

David tipped his head forward until it was resting on Patrick’s. “I love you too. Also, I have an idea.”

“Right now, all your ideas are good ideas. Tell me.”

Instead of telling him with words, David played out a little mental video of what he had in mind. Patrick’s mouth dropped open.

“Yes, that. Yup. Mmhmm.”

“You’re so articulate,” David said, leaning over to suck on Patrick’s neck. “It’s why I’m gonna marry you.”

Patrick laughed. “I see. Marrying me for my big, throbbing...brain.”

David reached down to the edge of Patrick’s sweatpants, teasingly dipping a finger just inside the waistband.

“Bedroom, David. Now, please.”

“Since you said ‘please.’” David smoothed over the spot he’d been sucking on with his tongue.

“You’re an asshole,” Patrick said without an ounce of conviction in his tone.

“I thought you said I’m nice!”

“I take it back.”

“Let’s go to bed, _please_,” David said, a lot less jokingly than he’d intended.

“Ok, David. Ok.”

*

Now that Patrick was prettily spread out on his back before him on the bed, David smiled to himself as he slid Patrick’s pants off his legs.

“What are you grinning about down there?” Patrick asked.

“Can’t you hear?” David murmured, between the open-mouthed kisses he was pressing up the inside of Patrick’s right thigh, starting at the knee.

“It’s not really words, more a feeling. I’m getting...delighted smugness?”

David tugged at the waist of Patrick’s boxers.

“Lift, hon. And that’s an accurate read.”

Patrick stroked his fingers absently through David’s hair, tugging gently as David set about marking up the newly-revealed skin of his inner thigh. He knew how much Patrick enjoyed the scrape of his stubble there, and he hadn’t bothered shaving this morning for that very reason.

“I’m just really looking forward to you losing your shit when the feedback loop starts.”

“The feedback loop?”

David smiled again, and licked a stripe up the underside of Patrick’s cock, already hard and reddened at the tip. David sympathized. The combined force of feeling both of their arousal last night had nearly given him a coronary.

Patrick shouted, hands tightening in David’s hair.

“Oh, I see what you mean. I could feel you, fuck, _tasting_ me? Jesus Christ.”

David hummed on his way back down, hollowing his cheeks.

“Alright, ok - um - you’ve proven your point. This is insane. Shit.” Patrick’s back arched off the bed when David dipped his tongue into his slit, probing, as he dug his nails into the marks he’d made on Patrick’s thighs. “But this isn’t what you were picturing. And I, Goddammit, David, didn’t get my mouth on you last night.”

David regretfully slid his mouth away from where he would’ve been more than happy to camp out for the next couple hours or lifetimes. He sat back on his heels and admired the wild-eyed expression on Patrick’s face.

“That’s flattering. You’d really want to spend your life sucking me off?” Patrick asked, half-breathless.

“I mean, I could lie, and say ‘no, I was being hyperbolic,’ but, well, kind of? I’d need periodic breaks to eat, sleep, shower - that sort of thing. And obviously someone would have to watch the store. I don’t think living on my knees behind the counter with my mouth attached to your dick is a sustainable business model. But what do I know. I’m not the business major in this relationship.”

Patrick laughed, shaking his head, and pulled him in by the back of his neck for a kiss.

Too soon for David’s liking, Patrick broke away and started tugging ineffectively at David’s clothes.

“We’ve gotta get this off, all of it - we’ve gotta get it all off, David.”

Recognizing Patrick’s shaking hands and the near-incoherent rush in his voice from the memory of how he’d felt last night, David obliged instead of teasing him.

“Ok, ok. Let me.”

Clothes sorted, David laid himself out on top of Patrick, letting Patrick soak in both the feeling of David’s weight on him and the mirrored pleasure David was experiencing at all that skin against skin. Patrick kissed him, mindlessly.

When Patrick started desperately grinding his dick up against the bare skin of David’s waist, David pulled back to ask, “You still want to do what I’d been thinking about?”

Patrick nodded, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “Yeah, yeah - I want that. Do it to me, please.”

“Well it’s more like we’d be doing it to each other - never mind. Alright, let me just...” David rolled them both to their sides. “It’s easier like this. Let me just get turned around.”

This was always the awkward part of 69-ing, David thought as he attempted to get his dick properly positioned in front of Patrick’s face. He tried not to worry about all the normal shit his mind liked to fixate on in moments like this. Whether his balls smelled ok, whether Patrick was going to get a neck cramp in this position, whether -

“Shut up, David.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You know what I mean. Nothing’s wrong.”

Without further preamble, Patrick leaned forward swallowed his dick straight down. As soon as David’s brain could register the sensation, Patrick emitted a choked-off groan, obviously feeling the double effect of what David was feeling. Time to up the ante.

David started slower, sucking just the head into his mouth and toying with it with his tongue as Patrick shuddered and twitched. He gripped Patrick’s ass and moved his hips to encourage Patrick to fuck his face, but it was clear immediately that David was going to have to do all the work here - Patrick was too far gone.

Alternately gasping, open-mouthed against his dick and desperately sucking him like his life depended on it, David knew just how Patrick felt. He slowed his movements, gentling a reassuring hand up Patrick’s side, projecting calm and reassurance at Patrick as best he could. It worked - some of the desperate tension left Patrick’s body, and he relaxed into the mattress. Good.

Patrick hummed, coming up for air. “I love it when you, when you -”

Ah, ok. _Good job, Patrick. You’re doing so good, so good for me,_ David thought, clearly as he could.

“David, David, David,” Patrick breathed, a delirious mantra as he kissed randomly over David’s dick, his hips, his stomach - wherever his clearly lost mouth could reach.

Even though it wasn’t David’s day to be a mind reader, he felt like he could almost read Patrick’s in this moment. But not quite.

“Shh, shh - I’ve got you. What do you need?” David asked, before hiking Patrick’s leg over his shoulder to lick at his hole.

“Holy shit, holy shit. That’s so good. But I need to feel what you feel - I get what you meant, last night. About barely being able to handle it. Can you, can you maybe, instead - can you fuck me?”

“Yeah, baby. I can do that.”

David maneuvered a very cooperative Patrick onto his back, knowing that there was no way in hell Patrick was going to be able to handle anything more athletic at present.

“Hey, I’ll have you know. I’m very athletic,” Patrick quipped tiredly, as David rooted in their bag for the lube.

“I know you are,” David said, bending Patrick’s knees and pressing a kiss to the inside of his ankle as he circled a wet finger around his rim, barely dipping inside. Patrick sighed.

“Is this what you want?”

“No.”

David paused, confused.

“I mean, it is, but it isn’t - I want your cock, David - I wanna feel what I feel like to you, how you feel when you’re in me, whatever. My brain’s broken. Just fuck me, please.”

David choked back a laugh. “Ok. Alright.” He made quick work of the rest of the prep, though he usually liked to draw this part out, get Patrick begging. That wasn’t really necessary at this point though, obviously.

“Obviously,” Patrick gasped.

David lined himself up, and took a deep, fortifying breath as he slid inside, into his favorite place in the world. Patrick’s body took him so easily, as Patrick let out a keening groan until David’s balls met his ass.

“Goddamn, you feel so good, I feel so good _to you,_ what the ever lovin’ -” Patrick cut off on a gasp.

David shifted his hand to Patrick’s knee, pushing it back and gaining some additional leverage to fuck back into him at a different angle, one he knew tagged Patrick’s prostate.

“Stop tryin’ to make it good for me,” Patrick slurred. “I’m getting off on you getting off, remember? Do what feels good, ‘k?”

That made a certain sense. Well, in that case, David knew just what he wanted. He got his hands under Patrick’s ass and sat back on his heels, pulling Patrick into his lap and onto his dick. He stared, enraptured, at the curve in Patrick’s neck as his back arched for him, at the beads of sweat along his chest. He looked like something David should worship.

“I, God, that’s what you think?”

“When you’re like this, yeah. Yeah, Patrick, that’s what I think.”

From that point, it wasn’t necessary to speak aloud. David kept up a filthy, adoring litany in his mind, telling Patrick everything he loved about his body, the way he looked, the way he moved, the way he felt around David’s cock.

And when David could feel his orgasm approaching, he could feel a parallel tightening around his cock as Patrick got there too, dick untouched and throbbing. He hoped they’d both survive this part.

“In me, in me, do it in me,” Patrick chanted. “I want to feel it, feel it from the inside, David - come on. Come now, come, yeah -”

David knew he was gripping Patrick’s hips too hard, fucking too hard, but Patrick was so into it, and David was so close, and then, fucking _fireworks_. Eyes clenched so tight stars burst behind his eyelids, he was grateful for the complete absence of neighbors at this remote cabin in the woods as both he and Patrick crashed into orgasm.  
*

A minute or 30 years later, David came back to consciousness. He was now horizontal, thankfully, and Patrick was staring at him. Patrick looked a bit less thunderstruck and a lot more concerned than David could immediately account for, given how world-bending that whole experience had just been.

“David, ok, thank God.”

“What?”

“I thought something had happened. It got so quiet all of a sudden.”

David was still so confused, and honestly, how the fuck was he expected to process whatever was happening right now, or the English language at all for that matter.

“I can’t hear you anymore,” Patrick said.


	4. Chapter 4

“What? Is it midnight already?” David asked, blinking owlishly at Patrick. 

“...It’s noon.”

“Ok, then. So, this is weird. Well. Weirder.”

“Do you think it’s over?” Patrick asked. He was relieved, right? That had to be what this feeling was. Definitely relief.

“I think so. I’m not surprised that did the trick.” David shot him a cocky grin, stretched out and self-assured next to him. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you have a dick with the power to break curses, David.”

“Hey, that’s what it looks like. And who am I to argue with facts?”

“Alright, alright. Whatever the reason, it’s stopped,” Patrick said. “That’s...good.”

“Wait, so can you get the ring off now?” David asked. 

Somehow, Patrick had forgotten about the root cause of all this. He twisted at the band. “Um. No. Still stuck.”

“Huh.” David tipped his head to the side. “Well, that makes things less conclusive, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not like the ring came with a playbook, though.”

“I don’t know anything about rugby.”

Patrick elbowed him in the side. 

After a beat, David asked, “Want to watch more Friends?”

*

Three hours and eight episodes later, David’s head was comfortably nestled on his lap as Patrick carded a hand through his hair. At the close of the season four finale, Patrick asked, “Are you glad it’s over?”

“Yeah, Ross and Emily were never going to make it.”

Patrick laughed. “I meant the mind-reading.”

David rolled over to look up at him. “Are we sure it actually is?”

“Well, I haven’t been privy to your innermost thoughts on late-nineties fashion this afternoon...”

“Are you saying you want to hear what I think of -”

“Nope. I’m good.” Patrick bent down to kiss him quiet. David didn’t seem to mind, smiling against his mouth. 

*

A gas station frozen pizza and the rest of the wine later, Patrick slid his hands up David’s bare back, working out the tension along his spine as David sighed beneath him on the bed, vanilla and clove-scented massage oil perfuming the air. 

“You know, I think I might miss hearing what you think. At least, in moments like this.”

“It’s, _guh,_ not really coherent words right now,” David groaned. “Yeah, right there - little higher - _shit_.”

Patrick chuckled, leveraging his weight to dig the heels of his hands into the knots under David's shoulder blades. As a side benefit, Patrick knew well how much David enjoyed being pressed down into mattresses. 

Right on cue, David said on a moan, “_Fuck_, you could do anything to me right now.”

Patrick leaned forward and grinned against his skin before sucking an open-mouth kiss into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. David shivered. 

“Anything?” Patrick said, working his hands up David’s arms, folded under his head. 

“Shit, shit, shit, that’s so good. Yeah, I’m cool with whatever, mmhmm.”

Knowing well the parameters of what was included in David’s relaxation-drenched ‘whatever,’ Patrick sat up to tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, then awkwardly shimmying out of his boxers before resituating himself on top of David’s thighs. He’d had the foresight to get David naked before starting the massage. 

He poured the oil directly from the bottle over David’s ass in a thin line, letting it dribble into the crease. He slid his hips forward experimentally - not quite slippery enough. He added more. Another slide, his rapidly-filling dick slipping just between David’s ass cheeks. Perfect. David hummed beneath him. 

Patrick took his weight off David’s thighs in order to push them apart, settling between them. Starting at the juncture of where his ass met his thighs, he pressed his fingers in on both sides, earning a deep groan out of David. 

“_God_, that’s good. You can fuck me though, or I can roll over, and you can fuck my face, whatever you -”

“Don’t rush me, David,” Patrick said, sliding his oil-slick hands down the taut backs of David’s legs. David went still. 

“Is that alright?” Patrick asked, pausing the journey of his hands down toward David’s knees. 

David gave him a wordless, exaggerated nod. 

Patrick lifted David’s right foot off the bed, bending his knee. Holding it steady with his left hand, he dug his right thumb into the middle of David’s medial arch, making David’s toes curl. 

After working out the tension in all of David’s trouble spots - the inside of his heel, the ball of his foot, the edge of his lateral arch, Patrick set about threading his fingers between David’s toes. David shuddered, and Patrick looked up to see David’s back rising and falling a little faster than a deep-tissue massage typically warranted. 

“You alright up there?”

“Yes. Yeah. Just, uh, that feels really good? I don’t think anyone’s ever - um.”

“So you’re saying I should stop,” Patrick replied, biting back a grin, even though David couldn’t see him from where his face was cushioned on his arms.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Patrick huffed a laugh, before knocking David’s knees a bit further apart. “Lift your hips for a second?”

David obliged, and Patrick ducked a hand under to see...yup. He’d thought so. He guided David’s hard cock gently downward, so that when he laid back down, it stuck out from beneath his balls. Patrick ran a finger down the back of it, leaving a trail of oil that ended at his slit. 

“You’re a tease, Brewer,” David muttered. 

“Who says I don’t intend to follow through?” Patrick said, pressing a kiss to David’s right ankle before laying his foot back down on the bed and repeating the whole process on his left. 

“Roll over, hon.”

David complied, slowly, without a quippy comeback. Good. Patrick poured more oil into his palms. 

Starting at his feet, Patrick enclosed both hands around David’s ankles, digging his thumbs and fingers into both sides of David’s calves in a slow, slick slide upwards. David moaned, eyes clenched shut, mouth ajar, cock pointed at the ceiling. 

“Almost there now,” Patrick murmured, steadfastly ignoring the pressure in his own dick in favor of taking his time here. David deserved it. “Palms down on the bed, alright?”

“What?” David asked, as Patrick’s hands continued up the front of his thighs and Patrick bent forward to suck his dick into his mouth. “_Fuck!_”

Patrick hummed around the base, both hands still rubbing little circles into the tightest spot, just north of David’s kneecaps. 

David started canting his hips up into Patrick’s mouth, just a little. That wouldn’t do, but Patrick didn’t exactly have hands free here. He shifted his weight to his feet, resettling his knees on either side of David’s thighs, pinning him in place. 

Giving up on the massage altogether at this point, he pressed his hands over David’s on the bed and curled his ankles over David’s shins. Patrick hadn’t thought to pack their restraints on their hurried way out the door, but this would do just fine. 

As he was about to lean forward and swallow David’s cock back down, he pulled his gaze away to check on David. “You ok?”

“Green, green, I love this - come on. Keep going. Can I -” David tested Patrick’s grip on his hands. 

“That’s how you want it? You want me to make you come, you want me to work for it?”

“Yes, yeah, that,” David gasped. “That’s what I want.”

“Alright then,” Patrick said, licking his lips before sucking the head of David’s dick into his mouth. 

David shifted beneath him, but Patrick had catcher’s thighs, and David wasn’t going anywhere. David’s fingers clenched and unclenched in the sheets until Patrick wove his fingers between David’s and pressed his hands firmly into the mattress. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _God_, Patrick,” David chanted, as Patrick bobbed his head so, so slowly on David’s cock, swirling his tongue around the crown on every upstroke. He was going for David’s full-on insanity at this point. 

David was near-thrashing now, neck taut and back arched as he attempted to squirm against Patrick’s hold on him. 

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there, almost, almost -” 

Patrick pulled off. 

“No, no, _fuck_!” David shouted, cock jerking futilely in the air. 

Patrick smirked, and leaned down to tongue at David’s balls, sucking one and then the other into his mouth. 

“You little shit, you fucker, _goddamn you’re so good_. Please, please, Patrick, come on,” David begged. 

Patrick let his balls slip out of his mouth and turned his head to the side. He sunk his teeth into the meat of David’s inner thigh until David melted, the fighting tension draining out of his body. 

“Ohhh, my God.”

Patrick came up for air then, panting. “There you go, David. That’s right. Let me, ok? Let me.” 

He shifted forward and reached for the oil again, pouring some into his hand. “If I let your hands go, will you keep them there for me?”

David nodded, mouth agape and eyes glassy. 

“Good. Doing so good.” Patrick finally gave his own cock a firm stroke, tip to base, while admiring the picture David made beneath him. He twisted his fist, rubbing his thumb over the head and adding his own pre-come to the slickness of his hand. This wasn’t going to take long. 

Breaths coming faster, he rose to his knees above David, staring down at him. David didn’t look away. “Watch me, watch me, David.”

“I am. Do it, do it, come on.”

Just a few more strokes, then Patrick aimed his cock at David’s, barely able to keep his own eyes open as he painted thick ropes of come over David’s dick. 

David lifted a palm to Patrick’s face, and Patrick leaned into it, settling heavily back onto his heels.

“I thought I said to keep your hands on the bed,” Patrick slurred, starting to slump forwards. 

“I’m not always the best at following rules,” David replied with a soft smile, running his thumb across Patrick’s reddened mouth. “You did so good.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” Patrick said. 

“You did. And now I’m telling you. And asking - can you - I really need to come. Please.”

Patrick never could resist ‘please.’ He tipped himself forward, bracing his weight on one hand and catching David’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss as he brought his other hand up to David’s come-coated dick. 

David breaths turned to gasps as Patrick worked his hand over him. Patrick sucked on his bottom lip, and pushed the taste of him still on his tongue into David’s slack and open mouth. He worked his tongue over David’s in rhythm with his hand on his dick until David was gripping at his back, nails biting into his skin, and coming with a strangled shout. 

Patrick pressed kisses over David’s face as they both came down and caught their breath - the bridge of his nose, his closed eyelids, the corner of his mouth. Patrick let himself collapse to David’s side, facing him. David’s eyes cracked open slowly. 

“I sure hope this place has a spare set of sheets,” David said drowsily, eyes closing again. 

*

Sheets changed, teeth brushed, and respective short and long-form skincare routines done, Patrick pressed a kiss to the back of David’s neck as he wrapped an arm around him and they both drifted off. 

*

Sometime later, Patrick was awakened from a truly lovely dream by a wild-eyed David, jostling his shoulder. 

“Patrick. Hey! Were you just - please say you weren’t just dreaming about baseball.”

“What?”

“I just, I mean _you_, me-as-you, whatever. Shit. Hit a home run, I think? Is that what that is when there are three guys on each of the little cushion things out in the field and everybody runs at the same time?”

“...Yes. That’s a home run. So it’s not over then, is it?” Patrick huffed into the pillow. 

“Guess not.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Go back to sleep. Try to dream about fucking me instead of baseball, alright?” David said on a yawn. 

Patrick let out a tired laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

*

At breakfast the next morning, David was watching him rather than eating. This was a concerning deviation from the norm. 

“You’re worried,” David said. 

Patrick set his fork down, running a hand through his hair to scratch at the back of his neck. “I guess I am.”

“Can you tell me about it?” David asked, patiently. As if he didn’t already know.

“It’s just...what if it’s over for you, but not for me? And what does it mean that I stopped being able to hear you yesterday, but you can hear me now? Do you not ‘know’ me in the same way I know you? Is there something I’m holding back from you, still, that I’m not aware of? Does that mean there’s something I don’t even know about myself?” Patrick’s breath caught, and he found himself blinking back tears. “_Shit_.” 

“Ok, so that’s a lot. Can you - can we - I need to be touching you. Is that alright?” David asked. 

Patrick nodded, and David quickly got up from his chair, offering Patrick his hand. When they settled in on the couch, David pulled Patrick’s legs into his lap, running his hands across the soft fabric of his sleep pants. 

Patrick let out a deep, shuddering breath. “God, why is that so reassuring? Just your hands on me, and I feel...”

David hummed. “I know what you mean. It works like that for me too.”

“Sorry for all that,” Patrick said, gesturing vaguely back at the kitchen table. 

“Don’t apologize.”

“This kind of hits a nerve, you know? I spent so long confused about who I am. I didn’t know myself at all, and it cost me a lot. It cost _other people_ a lot. Shit.” Patrick cut off, not able to get the words out. 

“Can you think it instead, if that’s easier?” David prompted, squeezing his legs gently. 

Patrick tried. He pictured Rachel’s face when he told her he was leaving, for what would be the final time. His mom’s wavering voice on his phone, worried and upset when he didn’t, couldn’t, talk to her those first few weeks after he left town. His own gasping sobs in the shower at Ray’s that first night, feeling more alone and lost than he ever had before.

“Oh, honey.” David said, rearranging them both until he could lie beside Patrick on the couch, wrapping his arm around him and kissing his hair, the shell of his ear, the knob of bone at the base of his neck. 

“You know me, David,” Patrick said quietly. “_You_ know me. Better than anyone ever has.”

“I know,” David replied, pulling him in, closer still. “We’re going to figure this out. We will.”

Patrick counted the length of his breaths. Four on the inhale, pause for two beats, slow exhale through the nose. Twyla had taught him that trick once, right before he’d gone on stage for Cabaret’s opening night. 

“God, you were so hot as the emcee.” 

Patrick smiled to himself, before realizing something. “David, we’ve got to open the store. Or at least one of us does.”

David kissed his neck again, burrowing in. “Must we, though?”

“Unless you’ve got a golden parachute somewhere or a hidden stockpile of cash in the Caymans, yes. We must.”

David sighed, relenting. “Alright, fine, Mr. Responsible. But we’ll do it together. I don’t care if I have to hear how hot you think Ted is when he inevitably visits for some more patchouli-scented body milk. And I swear to God, if you subject me to any theories of what he _or my sister_ does with all that fucking body milk, I’ll tell Roland you’re super enthusiastic about the idea of joining his upcoming annual mud bathing retreat.”

Patrick was laughing so hard he would have fallen off the couch if David’s arm wasn’t still tucked firmly around his middle.

“Alright, alright, ok,” Patrick wheezed. “We’ll do it together.”

*

“You didn’t think that guy was hot?” David asked, as he repositioned tubs of salt scrub along one of the store’s tables. 

Patrick looked up from the credit card scanner, where he was currently winding another roll of receipt paper. “Who? That guy who was just in here looking for artisanal vodka? Which, speaking of - have we thought about branching into spirits?”

“Hey, don’t change the subject. That guy. You didn’t think he was attractive?”

“I wasn’t changing the subject. I just didn’t notice the guy.” Patrick shrugged, turning back to the finicky receipt printer. They really should get one of those paperless card readers.

“Huh.”

“What’s confusing about that?” Patrick asked, confused and vaguely irritated for reasons he couldn’t articulate. “Should I have noticed him? Did you?”

“I mean, I have _eyes_, so yes. I noticed him. In passing. Just an errant, ‘Wow, that guy’s hot,’ kind of thought.”

“Ok. So why does it matter that I didn’t?” Patrick retorted, setting the card reader down and giving David his full attention. 

“It doesn’t matter,” David said, placating. “It’s just interesting. That’s all.”

“But why is it interesting, though? Am I required to be attracted to every 30-something guy with symmetrical features who walks through the door?”

“...No? I just thought it was a little strange, that’s all.”

Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him, trying, and failing, not to feel defensive. 

“Not strange. Remarkable? Is that a better word?” 

“_Way_ better.”

David cringed. 

“I’m feeling a little exposed right now, David,” Patrick admitted. It wasn’t like David didn’t already know anyway.

“I’m sorry,” David murmured. 

Just then, the bell above the door jingled as Jocelyn and the rest of the Jazzagals entered the shop. Moira, however, was missing from the group, out on a contract-mandated press tour for The Crows Have Eyes 2, now releasing only in Morocco and Finland. 

Patrick relaxed as his focus shifted away from David’s unsettling and _super_ helpful observations to helping Lena pick out the right cheese to pair with a nice bottle of Shiraz. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that David kept glancing over at him in between fielding questions from customers, a little crease between his brows. 

A busy fifteen minutes or so later, purchases rung up by Patrick and neatly packaged by David, the store was quiet again. 

“You felt like I was interrogating your preferences before, didn’t you?” David asked, folding and refolding a spare bit of packing paper. 

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Except he did know. He knew exactly why he was upset. 

David’s hands stilled, and he turned to face Patrick. “Whatever you feel, whatever you notice about other people or don’t notice - it’s all ok.”

_I don’t need your permission_, Patrick thought to himself. Except he did. Or at least, he wanted it.

“I know you don’t need my permission,” David said in a small voice. 

“I do notice other guys. Sometimes.” And this was true. It was. Only...

“I know, hon,” David said, hands coming up to rub at his shoulders, eyes seeking his. 

Not very often though. Not as often as David did, anyway. Was that bad? Did that mean something?

“Everybody’s different. You’re ok,” David said, interrupting the stream of his anxiety-led, half-formed thoughts. 

“You don’t think it means...” Patrick didn't know how to finish that sentence. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. Or at least, it doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All I'm saying is that being attracted to upwards of a thousand randoms at varying times and in varying places isn’t more valid than being attracted to a shorter list of people. Especially if I'm on that short list."

Patrick couldn't suppress a smile at that. "You might be on the list. Maybe." 

"Hon. In the last hour, you've thought about my ass, shoulders, thighs, and, mysteriously, the hairline on the back of my neck, all in more-than-flattering terms. I’m on the list.”

Patrick laughed, tugging David in by the front of his sweater and kissing him as soundly as he could justify while the store was still open. 

*

Later, after Patrick had drifted off to sleep, David was still wide awake. He had to know what would happen at midnight. 

At 12:01 AM, his phone pinged. 

**Stevie:**

_Well?_

**David:**

_He’s dreaming about math. Who dreams about math?_

**Stevie:**

_Serial killers. You’re marrying a serial killer._

**David:**

_He makes a pretty cute serial killer though._

David quickly snapped a photo of a sleeping Patrick, face resting on one palm like some kind of schmaltzy, posed cherub from a 1950’s calendar. 

**Stevie:**

_Ugh. He's adorable. It pisses me off. He really sleeps like that?_

_Serial killer._🔪💀

_So the curse isn't over then, is it?_

**David:**

_Looks that way_

David put his phone down and curled around Patrick's sleep-warm body.

“I know you, Patrick Brewer," he whispered against his neck. "And it’s a gift to know you better.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [This is Not Nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing), may the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back.

**David:**

_ Stevie _

**Stevie:**

_ David _

**David:**

_ I heard Patrick pick out a shirt this morning _

**Stevie:**

_ And by 'heard' you mean... _

**David:**

_ Not with my ears _

_ It was awful _

_ He had just two criteria. 'How cold is it outside?' and 'Is this shirt clean?' _

**Stevie:**

_ That must have been so hard for you _

**David:**

_ I require hash browns. With cheese. And bacon. To cope. _

**Stevie:**

_ See you at the cafe in 30 _

“Patrick?” David called, tapping on the open bathroom door. Patrick ducked his head out from behind the shower curtain. “I think I’m going to go meet Stevie for breakfast before work.”

“Sounds good. Come here for a second.”

“But you’re all wet and soapy and I just got my hair right -”

Patrick leaned further out of the shower, a safety hazard really, and pressed his wet, water-warm mouth to David’s, long enough that David entirely forgot to be annoyed. 

“Tell Stevie ‘hi’ for me,” Patrick said when they pulled apart, sliding the shower curtain closed again.

David turned and was about to head out the door when he heard it. “You’re thinking about what I look like wet. Except, I don’t look like that wet. Not at all. There’s no way. My neck doesn’t - my thighs aren’t _ that _\- Jesus, Patrick.”

“That’s just what you look like, David,” Patrick replied. 

David’s fingers itched to pull back the shower curtain and put Patrick on his knees just like he was so compellingly picturing. Anyone’s dick would look good from that angle, David thought. But he was flattered all the same. 

*

“Loaded hashbrowns, double cheese, side of bacon,” Twyla said, placing a veritable trough of edible comfort in front of David. “Oh, and one of our extra-big forks. That kind of day, huh?” Twyla noted, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. 

“That kind of day,” Stevie confirmed, as David’s mouth was already otherwise occupied, and talking with one’s mouth full was _ rude _. 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Twyla said with a nod and a smile.

“Thanks, baby,” Stevie said, tugging lightly on one of Twyla’s apron strings as she turned and walked away. 

David flashed her a significant look. 

“We’ll get into that later,” Stevie said with a dismissive hand wave and a smirk. 

“It should give you an idea of how much I need your help with this telepathy shit that I’m willing to temporarily overlook whatever _ that _ was.”

Stevie gave him a Cheshire cat smile. “Noted.”

“So. Help me,” David said, coming up for air between shovels of hashbrowns. “Please.”

Stevie steepled her fingers under her chin. “So the spell is broken for you, but not for Patrick?”

“Mmhmm,” David hummed around a mouthful of bacon. “And while I’m a little, just a smidge, proud that I beat it first -”

“Can’t turn off that competitive spirit,” Stevie cut in. 

“I’m so confused. The instructions were, literally, to ‘know and be known,’ and there sure as fuck are a ton of things Patrick doesn’t know about me, my past life, whatever. Like you remember that thing I told you I did at Drake’s 2012 New Year’s Eve Party?”

“I remember,” Stevie said, shuddering theatrically. 

“I haven’t even told him about that. I mean, I would, but I haven’t yet.”

“Ok, so it’s clear that actually knowing everything about you isn’t what broke your side of the spell.”

David slumped in his seat, hashbrowns settling like lead weights in his stomach. “I guess not. I’m going to have to hear Patrick choose between identical blue shirts forever.” 

Stevie’s eyes brightened. “Maybe not. What happened just before he stopped being able to hear you?”

“Um...” David grinned in an entirely decipherable manner. 

“Besides that. I don’t want to hear about that.”

“Well, that’s what happened!” David said. 

“If _ that _ was the answer, wouldn’t the curse have broken for both of you?” Stevie pointed out, arching an eyebrow. 

“I’d hope so. It was really good,” David said. “For both of us.”

“Stop bragging.”

“Just stating a fact.” David sipped his coffee. 

“What were you thinking about, then? If it wasn’t your magical dick that did the trick...”

“I have a magical dick?” David asked, far too interested in the answer.

“No. You don’t. It had to be something else.”

“Ouch, Stevie.” David put a hand to his heart in faux-injury. “Fine. I actually do remember what I was thinking. Kind of. So, Patrick could read my mind at that point, you know. And all I was thinking, on a loop, was...fuck. This sounds unforgivably cheesy, saying it out loud.”

“Can’t be any cheesier than you guys are on a daily basis. In public. In front of literally everyone.”

“Fine. I was thinking, ‘know me, know me, know me.’ Ugh. I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

“Yeah. That’s nauseating,” Stevie said. “But I think you cracked the code.”

“I did?”

“Well, you meant that, didn’t you? What you thought? Drake’s New Year’s Eve party included?”

“I think so, yeah. Even if he doesn’t know all the details, he knows me. Better than anyone.” At Stevie’s raised eyebrows, he added, “Except for you. It’s a tie there. I just don’t think there’s anything in my head that would really be news to him. And I think - I think I like it that way.”

“So it’s about intent,” Stevie said. “You want him to know you. Know all of you, not just the shiny parts.”

“Thank you for saying I have shiny parts,” David said, hand over his heart. “ And yeah, I guess so? I mean, it’s vaguely horrifying sometimes, everything he knows? But yeah. I want him to know me. I think you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“About the spell. Let’s not get cocky. Your entire footwear collection should’ve been replaced 14 years ago. But in this case, I really think you are. But then that means...” David swallowed. “Patrick doesn’t feel the same way.”

“It might not be that simple. It might be that he’s never articulated that desire clearly enough for it to count, to trigger the spell breaking. Maybe it’s a technicality.”

In a small voice, David replied, “I don’t think it’s a technicality.”

Stevie looked at him, with an uncharacteristically sympathetic twist to her expression. 

Just then Twyla reappeared tableside. “Anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Two bloody marys please,” Stevie said. “Extra olives. Thanks so much.” 

“Do you want the usual size? Or should I break out the novelty margarita glasses from Cinco De Mayo Night?” 

“I think you know the answer, Twy,” David added. 

“Will do. See you tonight, Stevie?” Twyla said, twirling a strand of her, admittedly very pretty, hair around a finger.

Stevie bit back a grin, nodding. 

*

Patrick was rearranging the organic deodorant display for the fourth time and trying not to fixate on imagining what David and Stevie were talking about in the hour before the store opened. 

Who was he kidding. They were talking about him. And they should be. David should be able to talk about him, about this whole fucked-up situation, with someone. And Stevie was a good someone. She was good for David. And she was Patrick’s friend too. He rearranged the deodorants again, this time organizing the scents by season. Was cinnamon cedar bark more of an autumnal or wintery scent? 

What the hell was his problem? He could see Rachel’s face in his head, that afternoon at the motel after the barbecue. God, he’d been thinking about her a lot lately. The way she’d said, ‘_ It’s like I never knew you at all _ ,’ as she rubbed the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. And he’d had the nerve to argue with her, even though she was right. He told her she had known him - that there’d just been this thing, this _ one _ thing, he hadn’t told her. But that was a lie. Because knowing full well, for years, that you could never quite love the person you’re with in the way they love you necessitated a multitude of dishonesties. God, he was an asshole. 

What if David didn’t know him either? He’d lied before. 

Except, David _ did _ know him. He did, Patrick was sure. David called him on his bullshit, and saw through his pretensions, and had kissed him back when Patrick wanted it so, so badly but couldn’t even get so far as to ask him on a date. David knew him. So what was the problem? This fucking ring thought there was a problem, that’s for sure. David had beaten it, and was that even a surprise? David wore his heart and his mind on his sleeve like a beacon for all to see. _ Everyone _knew David. Didn’t they?

Or did he know David best? Was it a competition? Did Stevie know him better, or Alexis? Definitely not Johnny. Patrick was reasonably sure of that. Patrick knew David better than Johnny. But Moira? She seemed to have a direct line to some part of David’s psyche, anyway. What about the people David was with before him? Did they know him too, just as well? Patrick’s hands were shaking, and the row of deodorants he’d determined as being decidedly “summer” scents clattered to the floor. 

Patrick stumbled into the back room, sinking to the couch and hugging his knees. He wanted David to know him, he did. But what if David didn’t like what he learned? What if David had a previously-unknown threshold of dumbassery that Patrick wouldn’t meet, and that would be it for them? If they broke up, would David still be able to read his mind? Would this ring be stuck on his finger forever, a tangible reminder of all the ways he dicked over the people who loved him, all because he couldn’t - he couldn’t -

Patrick pulled out his phone, breaths coming fast as though he was doing anything other than sitting here, perfectly immobilized by the sheer weight of how much he hated his own brain in this moment. 

**Patrick:**

_ You’ll still love me, really? If you know everything? _

Dots appeared and disappeared. 

**David:**

_ Yes _

**Patrick:**

_ That’s it - just ‘yes?’ No conditions? _

**David:**

_ No conditions _

**Patrick:**

_ Do you mind if I close the store for today? _

**David: **

_ Please do. _

**Patrick: **

_ Can we talk? _

**David:**

_ We can talk whenever you’d like _

**Patrick:**

_ Now please? _

**David:**

_ Now is good. See you at home. _

*

Under threateningly cloudy skies, Patrick walked quickly home. Jogged. Ran at full tilt. Patrick opened the door to their apartment, and David was on him in an instant, kicking the door shut behind him as he pushed Patrick up against it. He tasted like vodka and tomatoes, but Patrick cared not one bit. David’s hands were on his face, pulling him closer, then sweeping over his shoulders, down his arms, twining their fingers together before he raised Patrick’s arms above his head, pressing them into the door. He may not have been able to read David’s mind anymore, but he could still read his body just fine. David _ loved _him. 

"You’ve gotta know,” David said, a millimeter from Patrick’s mouth, “I’d love you,” _ kiss, _ “No matter what.” _ Kiss. _

David drew back, letting Patrick’s arms down, and tipped their foreheads together. “And I realize that’s a fucking dangerous thing to say. That’s what the followers of cult leaders think, right? That there’s nothing you could do that would make me want to walk away?”

“I’m not a cult leader though,” Patrick huffed. 

David kissed him again, hands everywhere - tugging on his belt loops, fisting the fabric of his shirt, running his fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He pulled back again. “And thank God for that. But that’s what kind of loyalty you’ve got, Patrick. Jesus. This can’t be healthy, the way I want to know everything, but also don’t fucking care what the ‘everything’ is. If you told me where you buried a body, all I’d want to know is what they’d done to you. And not because it’d matter. It wouldn’t. That’s the thing. You could murder someone for literally _ any reason _ and I’d back you. I’d be there with a shovel, and you know how I feel about manual labor. There’s nothing, nothing you could do or think or say, that would make me want to leave. It’s -” David laughed, wetly, and rubbed at his eyes. 

He went on. “It’s kind of awful, isn’t it? This is the kind of thing that ruins empires. Good thing we don’t have an empire, isn’t it? We just have a store, and it’s not even a franchise. Can you imagine, you as an ancient Roman despot, me as your utterly willing accomplice? Ride or die, that’s what I am. So, come on. Lay it on me. The worst you’ve got. I’m ready. Where are the bodies buried? Do you have a secret life as an assassin? I could roll with that. Probably. I’m not very...skilled...with violence. But I could help with, like, surveillance? If you needed to run from the cops or the feds or fucking Interpol. I could help with intel for you. Or if you needed an organ, one of my kidneys? No questions asked. It’s yours. I’m kind of scared of how much I’d do for you. There’s really no limit. It’s a good thing you’re a good person, because otherwise I’d be in trouble. I’ve loved people that way before, but the difference was that they didn’t deserve it. You deserve it, Patrick. You deserve it. With your Catholic conscience and your terribly-fitting jeans and your mathematical acumen and your inexplicable love for me. You deserve it.”

“It’s not inexplicable. Why I love you. It’s totally explicable.”

“Go on. I love praise. But I am going to need to sit down, because Twyla got out the novelty margarita glasses this morning, and did you know Stevie and Twyla are like _ a thing, _ and I might be having a panic attack, who can say, and did someone say something about sitting down?”

“You did,” Patrick said, hooking his hands under David’s shoulders and pressing his face to his neck. He kissed the skin there, his favorite spot. He might be crying. 

David started sinking to the floor, and Patrick followed. Leaning back against the door, Patrick cupped David’s face in his hands, eyes locked with his. “You deserve praise. You’re amazing, David. You give yourself to people, to the things you love. You just give and give and give, even when it hurts you. It’s amazing. Even when you’re getting depleted, you keep giving. I never want to deplete you.”

“You don’t,” David said firmly, eyes wet. 

“But I could. _ I have _. And I know that. So I try to be careful. I think that’s part of the problem. I don’t want to make you carry something for me that hurts you.”

“Nothing you want help carrying is too heavy for me,” David said, and Patrick believed him. He believed him. 

“That’s the other thing - you’re so much fucking stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Patrick said, willing David to hear him. “You carry all my shit, all my stupid, reckless baggage, and you act like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s not acting,” David said.

“See, that doesn’t make it less impressive. I’ve been _ smothered _ under the weight of it, all the things I never said to the people in my life who needed to hear them. And then you, amazing you, you just come along and _ scoop _, it’s off my shoulders. It’s weightless. It’s nothing. It’s like it never mattered. So then I forget to tell you, I forget to explain anything. Because what does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s weightless.”

Patrick thought of Rachel. “Like Rachel,” David said, comprehending.

Patrick nodded. “Like Rachel. I haven’t told you enough about her, about that period of my life. You deserve to know, because she was a part of me, and I want you to know every part of me. Does that make any sense?”

“If we’re swapping stories of things we’re not proud of, I should probably tell you about this time at Drake’s 2012 New Year’s Eve Party, when -”

“You don’t have to tell me, David.”

“I know I don’t, but -”

“You already beat the curse. You’d tell me if I asked, and it wouldn’t really bother you. You’d cringe, and apologize for horrifying me even though I wouldn’t be horrified, probably. But you’d be ok with me knowing. That’s what’s different.”

David linked their hands together, bringing Patrick’s to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. 

"If it's ok with you, I want to try something."

Patrick nodded. "Anything."

"Give me your phone."

Patrick handed it over. David typed in the code, which he'd known for over a year now. The better to fuck with Patrick's ringtones with. 

"If this is what you really want - you really want to solve this thing - then I have an idea. I'm going to list out the contacts on your phone, one by one, the ones I recognize, and you're going to just think about them. You don't have to say anything out loud. And I’ll just listen."

Patrick could feel the blood drain from his face. He nodded anyway. 

*

"'Clint Brewer.' You have your dad listed by his full name?" David shook his head. "Not relevant. Ok, go for it."

Patrick closed his eyes. He thought about his dad, teaching him to ice fish and change the oil in his car. A stilted attempt at a 'birds and the bees' talk when he was 14 and had just met Rachel. Patrick had told him he had nothing to worry about, and his dad had laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder like they were both men who understood these things, about how boys are with girls. Except Patrick didn't understand. Not really. How his dad had given him his grandmother's wedding ring to give to Rachel, tears in his eyes, telling him how proud he was of him. How that had made Patrick's stomach turn. The first conversation they'd had on the phone after Patrick ran away to Schitt's Creek - his dad worried and supportive and confused, offering to loan him money, letting Patrick get away with not explaining anything. 

David took a deep breath. "Ok, 'Khaled.' I feel like I've heard that name."

Patrick thought back to freshman year of college. He'd had to take a science class to meet his general education requirements, and had chosen Intro to Botany because it happened to fit neatly around his heavy business course load. This had been a mistake. His lab partner though, he'd helped. On a field trip to a local arboretum, Khaled had patiently helped Patrick identify trees by the pattern of veins in their leaves, their hands brushing occasionally as he traced a finger up the midvein of a beech tree leaf, illustrating the pinnate arrangement of the artery veins. Patrick aced his final and kept Khaled's contact in his phone long after the class was over for reasons he couldn't articulate at the time. 

David smiled knowingly at him, before choosing the next contact. "'Lizzie.' Your cousin, right?"

"Yeah," Patrick said, and remembered back to this one Christmas at his grandfather's cabin, when Lizzie had told him she had a girlfriend. Born a month apart, he and Lizzie had always been close, even though her family lived in Winnipeg, and the holidays were about the only chance they had to see each other. She'd looked so nervous when she told him, picking at the fuzz on her bright green 2002 Brewer Family Christmas sweatshirt and looking anywhere but at him as she waited for his reaction. He'd hugged her, promised not to tell anyone, and told her he loved her. There were words on the tip of his tongue then, but he didn't say them. Lizzie wasn’t invited to the 2003 Brewer Family Christmas the next year, courtesy of Patrick’s aunt. Patrick resolved to keep some unanswered questions about himself private for another year. Or fifteen, just to be safe. 

David cleared his throat. “I know I said I’d just listen, but...Jesus.”

“Lizzie’s good now. Married, lives in Vancouver. Her mom is still awful, but now _ she’s _the one who isn’t invited to Christmases. I called Lizzie after I proposed, actually,” Patrick nudged David’s shoulder with his own. “She can’t wait to meet you.”

“I can’t wait to meet her. Ok, um. Next one. ‘Mom.’”

Oh. Right. 

Patrick had nightmares as a little kid, nearly every night. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t naturally gifted at sleeping in his own room. Instead, he’d quietly creep out of his room and down the hallway, tap his mom on the shoulder, and she’d wordlessly pull back the covers so he could fit his little body snug against hers. Patrick didn’t know exactly when he stopped associating his mom with safety. Maybe it wasn’t even anything she’d actually done or said. Maybe it was just the swirl of messages he’d received from the world, from other members of his family, from the kids at school, that took away the closeness and the trust he had with her. He hoped he could get that back. Since his birthday party, he and his mom had talked nearly every day. Long, rambling conversations where she’d tell him about her garden and her rescue dog, peppering in gentle questions about David, about the store, about his life here. It felt like love. 

Patrick pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to keep it together. 

“You don’t have to keep it together.” David pulled Patrick into him, cradling the back of his head and kissing his temple. “You don’t have to keep it together _ with me _.”

Patrick took a shuddering breath. “I know, I know that now.”

David held him, rubbing his back in long, slow strokes as Patrick tried to pull it together, amid an onslaught of memories. Things he’d told David before, others he hadn’t. David just held him closer. 

“It’s good, I think. That this happened,” Patrick said, minutes or hours later. His legs were asleep, and his eyes stung from crying. “Otherwise, I don’t know that I ever would’ve...”

“You would’ve, eventually,” David said, kissing the top of his bent head. 

“Maybe. God, I love you, David. I’m so glad you know all this now,” Patrick said. 

As the words left his mouth, there was a clap of thunder, and the rain that had been threatening all day began in earnest. 

“You mean that?” David asked.

Patrick nodded. “I mean that. Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. I _ want _ you to ask. I -”

David placed a gentle hand against his mouth, shushing him. “Patrick. Look at your hand.”

Patrick did. And to his complete shock, his left ring finger was bare. 

“I..._ we _...we did it? It’s over?” Patrick let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Holy shit.”

David laced their fingers together, his right hand with Patrick’s now-ringless left. “Looks that way.”

After a beat, David amended, “I mean, it’s not. Not really,” David said, squeezing his hand. “At least, I hope not?”

Patrick looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“I’ll be spared your daily sartorial decision making process, that’s a plus, but I hope you - I hope you still tell me things. Things that might be, um, hard to say?”

“David, I will. I might need a little prompting, a little bit of reminding that, um. That you want to hear those things? But yeah. I’ll tell you things. Anything you want to know.”

David sighed, tracing a finger over the place where Patrick’s ring used to be. They were quiet together for a moment. 

“Do you think we can get a refund, since the ring up and vanished? A replacement, maybe? See what else we can learn about each other?”

“I’d rather buy you something horrible from fucking Danny’s Discount Diamonds in Elmdale,” David said, pulling himself to unsteady feet and tugging Patrick insistently toward their bedroom. “The Etsy witch can go to hell. I know you already.”


End file.
